


in a manner of speaking

by NotPersephone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Caring Bedelia, Drunk Hannibal, F/M, Romance, wine tasting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 04:17:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12622996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: Bedelia and Hannibal go to a wine tasting, which proves less than interesting. They find their own way of making it entertaining, but the outcome is rather surprising.





	in a manner of speaking

The look of distaste in Hannibal’s eyes was enough to get Bedelia intrigued. As though someone had dared to suggest something as preposterous as tofu steaks, but it was in fact a generous gift. One of the delighted patrons of the museum had presented Dr Fell with a weekend wine tasting tour in San Gimignano. A hill town located southwest of Florence, a delightful destination, they were assured, and the tour was a real attraction.

“A _tourist_ attraction,” Hannibal comments upon their return home from the museum dinner. He tosses the itinerary on the desk without a second glance and heads to the bedroom to remove his jacket and tie.

“It might be _entertaining_ ,” Bedelia follows right behind him, referring as much to the invitation as to the current conversation, taking off her stilettos, but keeping her eyes on him.

“I doubt that,” he removes his tie and stares back at her.

Bedelia would have pointed out that he has no issues with them frequenting the many museums of Florence. But surely Hannibal would counter with the “timeless art” argument.

“It is something different to occupy our weekend,” she presses on, walking towards him, “Outside our, _your_ , comfort zone.” She enjoys pushing Hannibal beyond his well-established boundaries; for such an  _unconventional_ man, he has a surprising number of habits. And he has returned a favour on numerous occasions. It feels like falling without a safety net, but he is always there to catch her.

“It will be tedious,” he stands his ground, but she can see his resolve is beginning to melt.

“Not if I am there with you,” she tilts her head with a smile and turns around, so he can unzip her dress.

“If it is what you want,” deft fingers slowly undo the zipper before his arms circle around her waist, “We will go.” He presses a lingering kiss on her exposed collarbone. He could never deny her anything.

 

True to his word, Hannibal has arranged for a car and a driver to be available for them the following Saturday, giving them the liberty to _enjoy_ (his deliberate emphasis on the word was not missed) the purpose of the tour.

His reluctance still clung on, but it vanished in a blink of an eye when he saw her emerging from the bedroom. She was wearing one of her light summer dresses; she only possessed a few and saved them for their trips outside the city. This one was a perfect shade of jade, flowing softly around her figure, making him stare as she walked.

The summer was in full bloom, the sun high up over Duomo, the heat pouring over the streets and the pedestrians seeking shade and gelato.

“At least we can always find other distractions to keep us occupied on this glorious day,” he says with a charming smile, his arm around her, holding her close as they stand outside, waiting for the car to arrive.

“Let’s visit the winery first, shall we,” she retorts as the car stops and Hannibal opens the door for her.

Soon the scenery behind the car windows changes from urban to rustic; stone buildings and narrow streets replaced by vast fields and green pastures. They reach the destination in no time and the car bypasses the town to stop right at the door of the winery. To her dismay, Bedelia notices a small tour bus at the end of the parking lot. The afternoon might not be as private as they were promised. The driver is instructed to stay in the vicinity and Bedelia takes Hannibal’s arm, guiding him inside before he notices the unexpected development.

But it is for nought; once inside they are welcomed by the proprietor and the noise of the other guests already in place and waiting. Hannibal barely glances at the man offering his hand in salutation, his eyes follow the group gathered in front; American tourists, easily recognised by their outfits and cheerful disposition.

Bedelia grows wary at once; what if someone identifies them? A slim chance, but one can never be too careful. Yet it would more suspicious if they left right after arriving. She suddenly regrets her insistence on coming here.

But Hannibal does not look worried at all, merely annoyed and preoccupied by surveying the people. They are rather loud and obnoxious, one can say…

“ _Rude_ ,” Hannibal utters the word, barely audible to anyone but Bedelia, “How very rude.”

Bedelia cannot help but agree, still the grip of her hand around his arm immediately tightens as new alarm lights up in her mind. One that brings no danger to her, but others might not be so lucky.

Following her gesture, Hannibal looks at her, his gaze noticeably softer when it lingers on her. And Bedelia intends to keep it that way.

The proprietor moves to the front, but Bedelia and Hannibal remain in the back. A clear way for a swift exit if needed.

The man begins the introduction in an over-dramatic way, trying to appeal to his audience, which earns him an applause from the Americans and a barely concealed sigh from Hannibal.

While the first glasses of wine are being poured, the speech continues, explaining how the Sangiovese and Canaiolo grapes are grown and blended.

The basic information is hardly impressive for Hannibal who accepts the glass with a gentle nod, but, luckily, does not say anything.

Bedelia does not wait and takes a sip of her wine, she can see Hannibal doing the same. It is not the best, but a passable vintage.

The man moves on to the different characteristics of wine and its notes. He swirls the glass while explaining and the others attempt to replicate the movement. Bedelia can feel Hannibal rolling his eyes. A sudden idea crosses her mind.

“Have you ever played a drinking game?” she whispers in his ears, her grip on his arm somehow stronger and more reassuring.

“Excuse me?” he stares at her in bewilderment.

“You went to college,” she insists, “Do not tell me you had never engaged in any social traditions, even if some of them are very rudimental.”

“I am familiar with the concept if that is what you are referring to,” his eyes remain fixed on the man up front, the grip on his glass tighter than necessary.

“We can play one now,” she states with a confident smile.

“Is this your idea of _entertaining_?” he turns his head to look at her, disinterested look in his eyes.

“The afternoon is less amiable than I expected, I admit,” Bedelia concludes, “But we can still make it so.”

He keeps staring at her without a word, which she takes as her cue to continue.

“Let’s play,” she leans in, her lips brushing over his earlobe. It is not like Hannibal to deny himself a pleasure of a game, especially with her alongside him.

The corners of Hannibal’s mouth turn up in a smile blossoming slowly; she knows he has been convinced.

“A sip for each time someone detects a wrong note. Two sips for any etiquette faux pas,” she explains with her mouth still against his skin.

Hannibal’s nods his head in agreement, his interest suddenly awaken from its forced doze.

“I taste nutmeg,” a tall, brawny man up front states with confidence and Hannibal is about to sigh but he takes a sip instead.

Bedelia’s eyes scan the group searching for a sign of recognition or, rather, lack of thereof.

“There,” she motions to a man cradling his glass as if it were a tumbler. She takes two sips.

With the new-found purpose, they observe the crowd closely. Soon another sip is in order (there are  _hardly_ any traces of peach in this wine) and then another, followed by two.

Bedelia’s glass is still half full, while Hannibal’s is already empty.

“You should slow down a bit,” she advises caution; even a man like him cannot be immune to the effects of alcohol.

“It is all right, I can always acquire more,” he says, missing the point of her statement.

Before Bedelia gets a chance to contour, Hannibal calls the attention of the passing waiter. Oblivious to the glass limit set in the invitation, he exchanges a few precise words with the young man, his tone authoritative but charming, before seamlessly slipping him few banknotes.

A moment later the man returns with a bottle of Chianti and two glasses. Bedelia reads the label as Hannibal fills the glasses; she is not surprised that it is a much better vintage.

Hannibal removes her glass and offers her a fresh one. “You should not be drinking mediocre wine,” he states with his usual passion.

Bedelia smiles at his comment and accepts the glass; he always makes sure she is surrounded only by the best things.

They continue their game as the group proceeds to another wine, lingering in the back, undisturbed by no one.

Their bottle is empty right as the man invites everyone to make their way to the next room to sample Tuscan olive oils. The group moves in an orderly fashion, leaving Bedelia and Hannibal to follow at the very end.

They do not sample the oils, but as soon as the tour advances to yet another vintage, their waiter arrives with another full bottle.

Soon that bottle is empty as well, although Bedelia only had one glass. Looking at Hannibal’s now glossy eyes, it is not hard to guess what happened to the rest. He gazes at her with a wide smile; along with the rise of alcohol level in his blood, his mood has improved significantly.

Bedelia stares back at him with attentiveness; his current state is new to her and she does not know what to expect.

The wine tasting draws to an end and the proprietor finishes his presentation to another round of applause from the American tourists. Before leaving, he invites all participants for a meal, available in the adjacent restaurant.

“Perhaps you should eat something,” Bedelia continues to look at Hannibal and he continues to smile. For now. It is hard to predict his reaction to a set menu, even without the alcohol cruising through his veins. She decides it is best to return home and deal with the problem there.

Bedelia approaches the man in charge and thanks him for the _pleasant_ afternoon. To her surprise, Hannibal stands right behind her, bidding him farewell in much friendlier manner than before. She watches him with caution as he walks towards the exit, his steps still steady, despite the apparent dizziness in his mind.

Luckily, the car arrives immediately, as instructed, and Hannibal’s balance is not tested further. Once they are safely inside the car and on the road again, Bedelia allows herself to observe him more closely.

“I am so happy you are here, Bedelia,” he announces suddenly, meeting her eyes while his own remain lustrous and twinkle merrily, “Here, with _me_.”

Hannibal stares at her with complete adoration, his sun and stars, then takes her hand and kisses it gingerly.

“You are wonderful,” he continues to kiss her palm, “ _So wonderful_.” The adoration in his gaze swells, ready to spill over the brim and a cold breeze of disquietude passes through Bedelia as she senses what will come next.

“I lo-”is the only thing he manages to utter before her hand silences his lips.

“You should not say anything you will regret tomorrow,” she states firmly, but Hannibal does not seem to be upset by the sudden interruption. She is not sure if he is at all aware of what happened mere seconds ago.

Still smiling, he shifts closer to her and rests his head on her shoulder. At least he is not saying anything else, Bedelia concludes and lets her fingers slowly brush through his hair. He sighs contently and closes his eyes.

 

“We are here,” Bedelia whispers softly when the car pulls to a stop in front of their apartment. She is unsure if he was asleep or not, but his head lifts at once at the sound of her voice. He manages to sit up straight and even to get out first, holding the door open for her.

The sky is still a bright shade of blue and the air remains balmy despite the arrival of the evening. Bedelia waits for the car to drive away before slowly walking towards the door, holding Hannibal’s arm.

The drive (or nap) seems to have impeded his balance; his steps now more unsteady than before. Bedelia breathes out in relieve when they finally reach their apartment and the door closes behind them.

“Would you like another drink?” Hannibal offers, letting go of her hand and walking briskly towards the dining room. Not necessary in a perfectly straight line.

“No, thank you. I think _we_ had enough for today,” her eyes follow his peculiar pursuit.

Her words make him stop and he turns to look back at her, suddenly lost without his purpose. He looks endearing. Bedelia presses her lips together to conceal a smile.

“Let’s get you to bed, shall we?” she approaches him and takes his arm once more. Hannibal smiles with delight, clearly misunderstanding the meaning behind her suggestion, but Bedelia does not mind as long as he is following her steps. It is still early in the evening, but this appears to be the best solution.

They enter the bedroom and Bedelia makes Hannibal sit down on the bed and helps him undress, starting off with unbuttoning his shirt. It is not as easy of a task with Hannibal’s hands meandering down her waist and hips while his lips seek contact with hers.

“Hannibal, please,” Bedelia attempts to chastise him, but he looks up at her like a lost boy, his eyes now shining with sadness.

She finally gives in and leans forward to kiss him, making him sigh with pleasure. A second kiss follows, soft lips against soft lips, just for good measure, and Hannibal is finally able to sit still as she finishes removing his shirt.

Bedelia is amazed when he manages to take off his own trousers and shoes, then leads him to lie down on the bed, allowing herself a lingering stare at his almost naked body.

“Where are you going?” sudden worry fills Hannibal’s voice as he gets under the covers and watches her turn away.

“I am going to the bathroom. I will join you shortly,” Bedelia reassures him, but he remains seated up straight, uncertainty in his face. These were clearly not the words he wanted to hear.

“I _will_ be back,” she leans in and kisses him once more, hands resting gently on his cheeks and slowly pushing his head to meet the pillow.

She waits for him to close his eyes, before finally leaving. Removing her own dress, she heads to the bathroom, looking forward to a quiet bath. Warm water relieves the _excitement_ of her day with the added help of citrus oils.

When she returns to the bedroom, Hannibal is sleeping soundly. She smiles looking at the helpless figure on the bed, rendered vulnerable by something so plain as alcohol. Still, Hannibal allows himself to be completely unguarded with her and she relishes that.

She occupies herself with a book before finally joining him in bed. Sleep claims her at once and carries her into oblivion; the events of the day made her more tired than she was aware of.

 

The following morning, Bedelia wakes up wrapped firmly in Hannibal’s arms. She hears his steady breathing behind her, a clear sign that he is still in deep sleep.

She turns in his embrace to face him. He looks so calm, mouth slightly parted, his ruffled hair falling softy on his forehead. Bedelia gently brushes away the strands; she loves his hair that way. Her hand hovers close to his cheek, but she does not want to wake him. Not yet, knowing the unpleasantness of the morning after that awaits him. The fingertips barely graze his skin before she takes her hand back.

Bedelia watches him sleep, contemplating whether to leave his warm embrace, when his eyes open wide. Yet his usual morning alertness is gone, instead he groans and closes them immediately. It looks more precious than it should.

“Good morning. How are you feeling?” she asks in a soft voice, suppressing a smile.

Hannibal does not respond, but merely groans again, keeping his eyes closed.

“One cannot expect anything else from drinking a low-quality wine,” he speaks at last, his voice low and tired, but his argument unyielding, not taking any responsibility for what took place yesterday. He is clearly feeling better.

“I will get you some water and aspirin,” Bedelia offers, attempting to leave his arms, but his hold only tightens in response. He does not want to let her go, as if she was his only anchor in the current, woozy waters of his mind.

“Hannibal,” her voice is gentle, but firm. Reluctantly, the grip lessens, allowing her to slip out of his arms and make her way to the kitchen.

She returns shortly with a glass of water and pills and finds Hannibal sitting up on the bed. Being vertical does not seem to agree with him. He makes a feeble attempt to get out of bed, but Bedelia stops him at once and gives him the water and aspirin instead.

“You should go back to sleep. It is still very early,” she suggests as he obediently swallows the pills and greedily drinks the water.

“Will you stay too?” he asks at once, putting the glass down and looking up at her. His half-open eyes are weary and pleading.

“Yes,” she has no other choice but to agree. After all, she feels partially responsible for his state.

Bedelia sits on her side of the bed and Hannibal lies down again, reassured by her presence. His eyes remain on her; he blinks once, twice, then his heavy eyelids close and soon enough, he is asleep.

Once his breathing becomes even, Bedelia considers leaving the bedroom, but the warmth radiating from his body makes her drowsy again. She rests her head on the pillow and drifts away once more.

 

The sound of the church bells brings her out of her slumber. Somehow, it has become a habit of theirs, sleeping in on a Sunday. Not that she minds, Bedelia thinks as she stirs and opens her eyes, feeling refreshed and serene.

Hannibal is already wide awake, gazing at her intensely. His eyes are clear and bright now; he appears to have fully recovered.

They stare at each other without speaking, a comfortable quietude they both enjoy. Finally, Bedelia lifts herself up and turns to leave the bed, but is stopped by Hannibal’s hand on her arm.

“What it is?” she looks back at him, surprised.

Hannibal says nothing, just pulls her closer, making her rest on his chest. His eyes remain fervid, peering into hers, all the cloudiness of yesterday is now gone.

“I would never regret the truth, Bedelia” he declares with all seriousness. He remembers.

Silence returns, more consequential than before, as Bedelia tenses, considering what he will do, or _say_ , next. Instantly, he wraps his arms around her, pulling her even closer, and kisses her deeply. She relaxes at once, melting further into his embrace, as he kisses her again and again, every brush of his lips against hers meaning more than a thousand words.

The alcohol might have loosened his tongue, but now he has found a better use for it. There was no need for the words to be spoken out loud. They could always tell each other everything by saying nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a simple idea of wine tasting, but progressed into expressing feelings, or rather the fact that they do not need to express them. They know. I don't see them saying "I love you", it is just too "plain"; their relationship is so much more, so much deeper than that.  
> And I am a sucker for them taking care of each other. ♥  
> I was listening to Nouvelle Vague as I was writing it and one of the songs they covered is "In a Manner of Speaking": "You told me everything/ By saying nothing."  
> As always, feedback is love!


End file.
